


I'm Addicted To This Pattern

by izzybelledot



Series: I'm Addicted To [1]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Depression, Drugs, Emotional Manipulation, Hurt Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Introspection, M/M, Manipulation, Nihilism, Past Rape/Non-con, Poor Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sex Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:41:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27389626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzybelledot/pseuds/izzybelledot
Summary: My personal headcanon of Angel's life on earth, and before the Happy Hotel in hell.
Series: I'm Addicted To [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2000869
Kudos: 7





	I'm Addicted To This Pattern

Being gay back when Angel Dust had been alive was rare- or at least being open about it was.

You had to be careful who you told, had to be careful how you acted. _Anthony _had flirted with whatever gal was unfortunate enough to be around him at the same time his father was. Which wasn’t often- but it did happen.__

__Only occasionally would Anthony risk going out. Pulling on a larger coat, and slinking downtown to some bar with dim lighting, and filled with guys with an unspoken preference. He couldn’t afford to go often, but anyone associated with his father wouldn’t be caught near one of those bars._ _

__The feeling of freedom and rightness that the place had brought had made him careless. He forgot how cruel people were, even if they accepted him for his sexual preference. He couldn’t remember what the john who had slipped a roofie into his glass had even looked like. He had been careful, and Anthony had never frequented the bar much after the incident._ _

__Anytime he’d tried he felt hands on him, dark shadows becoming leering eyes and predatory smirks. He felt shivers rake up and down his spine, and he’d felt a horrible urge to claw his skin off. He would relive the night anytime he dressed, anytime he thought of going back, anytime he tried to express who he was. He’d never made it to the counter to order a drink, and only once managed to coerce himself back inside._ _

__It hadn’t been more than five months before he overdosed in some back alley anyways._ _

__So when Anthony had got to hell, he had been more careful. He named himself after the drug he’d overdosed on, a reminder or the consequences his naivety had brought. The last time he’d given into the freedom that expressing himself caused he’d been tricked, drugged, _violated. _____

____Of course, none of his personal grievances mattered once he became employed under Valentino._ _ _ _

____Valentino picked him up off the street, and unless he wanted to be quickly exterminated, he would have to agree to Valentino's proposition. He had already overcome the more noticeable of his flashbacks and attacks by that point, but still, Valentino hadn’t been happy with his “lackluster performance” when he hadn’t wanted a fuck. That was when Valentino turned to the obvious solution; getting ready for work meant drugging himself up until he could hear colors but could still perform to Valentino’s expectations._ _ _ _

____No more flashbacks, panic attacks, or hesitation._ _ _ _

____Angel Dust adopted Valentino’s prescription in a heartbeat._ _ _ _

____He’d come down from a high in the middle of a performance once, and Valentino had not been happy when he’d tried to pull away from a kiss. That was the first time since he’d fell to hell that Angel had really realized what he was doing._ _ _ _

____In an effort to escape the nightmare that had ended up in his death, he’d made it his every day._ _ _ _

____Ironic._ _ _ _

____When Charlie and Vaggie had offered him a spot at the Happy Hotel he felt his heart leap into his throat. He could escape the studio- at least for part of the time. He wouldn't have to pay rent so he could take fewer jobs on the side. Work was still a trip, both down memory lane and literally. But he had somewhere safe to go home to._ _ _ _

____An escape that didn't remind him of his failures._ _ _ _

____And that was fine until he didn't have drugs in his system and realized more and more how fucked up it all was. What was the point really? He couldn't die unless it was by the angels, he wasn't really living. Any joy or happiness he found was an illusion created by drugs, sex, and the adrenaline high that followed every gunshot._ _ _ _

____Of course, he couldn't talk about this to just anyone._ _ _ _

____You had to be careful who you showed your true self to._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____Especially in hell._ _ _ _

**Author's Note:**

> I'm thinking on writing a series of small blurbs like this one, all Angel focused.


End file.
